


Mirror of Erised

by Alex80mph



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex80mph/pseuds/Alex80mph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His safe place has dressed him in a maid’s outfit, bared his chest, and covered his eyelids with kohl. Or, maybe, Derek has done it all himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror of Erised

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [magnificent art](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/151243) by Allegator. 



> This fic was inspired by the magical art of the talented Allegator, whose works you can find here: http://aligation.com/
> 
> Русский перевод by ms_bitterherb  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/12776025

“Granny, granny,” says Stiles, smiling wickedly, “Why is your dick so big?”

What, thinks Derek.

“You should answer properly, Derek. Don’t spoil the tale.”

They went to the vault to find the book for Lydia. For some reason Peter gave the key from the vault to Stiles, playing with his hand as a well-fed cat would’ve played with a mouse, put the key ring into the open palm, jerked it away, put again.

“Stop it, evil uncle,” hissed Stiles. He smelled like a mouse too: of fear, irritation and wet fur.

“Don’t touch everything you see there, little one. Some things there are too dangerous even for your mind. Look out for him.”

“Oh my god! I can look out for myself, alright?”

“Look out for Derek. My nephew has wandering hands, as you should have noticed.”

What, thought Derek.

“What?!” said Stiles. He was blushing; uneven red blotches covered his face and neck. It was repulsing.

Derek tried not to stare.

But now he is staring. It is impossible not to look. In the mirror he can see himself – but it’s not him, it can’t be him. Derek in the mirror is wearing a bodice, choker, lipstick and maid’s headpiece. He is pouting in the mirror. He is looking like a whore.

But Stiles. Stiles is looking even worse. He is topless – naked? – he is holding Derek’s arm, his lips are touching Derek’s ear.

“You should not spoil the tale, Derek,” he says.

All his pack is here, except obviously Peter. Erica plays with some kind of device – a love child of a torture chair and a fucking machine. Her eyes shine with glee, not werewolf yellow, just a wet glitter of curiosity. She is like Stiles sometimes, wants to know everything, to touch and taste.

"You see me everywhere," says Stiles from the mirror. He is touching Derek’s shoulder with a dust brush. Derek wants to bite the smile off his face.

Isaac got his hands on – Derek looks closer – a short oriental sword with a silver-plated hilt and a blade covered in a tying of Arabian words. Such swords are called yataghans, Derek knows. He likes this word, tenacious and dangerous. He likes a lot of other words, whatever Stiles may say.

"Peter told you not to touch anything," says Derek.

"He told you not to touch anything," parries Isaac with the yataghan.

"You can touch me," whispers Stiles in the mirror.

The real Stiles is silent.

Boyd is not interested in treasures of the vault. He watches Erica. He doesn’t smile – neither like Erica, nor like Stiles. He just stands there and watches.

Boyd likes to watch, Derek knows. Not only Erica. Observation is his main weapon, he doesn’t need a yataghan. Boyd watches, absorbs, concludes, and only then he talks. Derek likes him for that. He can relate.

However, with Erica, it’s just watching for Boyd. He doesn’t have to be on guard with her, doesn’t have to analyze every move for his own safety, to listen to every sound only for the sake of staying alive. Erica is his safe place.

Derek envies him a little bit. His safe place has dressed him in a maid’s outfit, bared his chest, and covered his eyelids with kohl.

Or, maybe, Derek has done it all himself.

Derek doesn’t know how the mirror works, he’s never seen it in the vault before. Maybe, it translates his inner drag queen. Maybe, it’s Stiles’ wish. It could even be Peter’s doing, Peter is capable of such doings, Derek knows too well.

“What are you looking at, big guy?” says Stiles, the real Stiles, who is not naked, who wanders around the vault and touches everything he can reach. Now he is reaching Derek, Derek’s shoulder, he is standing behind Derek, just like the Stiles in the mirror, he is going to see Derek’s reflection - Derek’s everything – any second now.

“Nothing,” says Derek.

“Oh my god, is this the Mirror of Erised?” exclaims Stiles. “Guys, look, it’s the Mirror of Erised!”

Erica literally screams with delight.

“Have you really had it here, in your basement all the time?”

“It’s not my basement”.

“I want to punch you right now. So bad,” she says.

“Just try it,” says Derek. He still has no idea, what they are talking about.

“Do you wanna look into it?” asks Isaac.

Stiles recoils.

“I wouldn’t do it, if I were you, Erica.”

“It’s good you are not me then,” she comes to the mirror, pushes Stiles off. Derek moves out of her way, away from the mirror. He doesn’t want her to see what he sees.

“What does it do?’ he asks Stiles quietly.

They both stand behind Erica, like faithful guardians. Derek can still see his reflection, but it’s already normal. No more slutty outfit, no more makeup, no more naked Stiles.

“Haven’t you read - of course, you haven’t, why am I asking,” mutters Stiles. He is chewing his nail, his fingertip actually; Derek feels the smell of blood, “it’s the Mirror of Erised, or some kind of equivalent. It shows you your biggest dream, your biggest desire, that’s why it is called the Mirror of Erised, read the name backwards and for God’s sake, read ‘Harry Potter’ already, you caveman, it’s like the Bible of the Supernatural. Like. ‘Supernatural’ the TV series for the Supernatural. What do you see, Erica?”

“Nice try, Stilinski. But no chance in Hell.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Stiles whines, trying to look over Erica’s shoulder, though, as far as Derek understands, he won’t see what she sees. “You have to tell me, I’ve seen the mirror first.”

“No,” says Boyd, “Derek saw it first.”

And of course now everybody’s looking at Derek. Stiles is squinting like a fucking cat. Derek hates cats.

“Derek,” says Stiles.

“No,” says Derek.

He can almost hear Peter’s laugh.

Look out for my nephew, he said. Stiles is looking.

“What have you seen in the mirror?” asks Stiles.

Erica turns around; Boyd waits. Isaac peers behind the shelf.

Derek crosses his arms. He can do it; he bluffed his way through the adolescence with two sisters.

“I’ve seen you, Stiles. Naked.”

Erica guffaws. Boyd shakes his head; Isaac rolls his eyes and disappears behind the shelf. He hasn’t rid of the yataghan yet, Derek notices.

Stiles steps closer, one small step towards Derek. He puts his hand on Derek’s arm, just as his reflection did in the mirror. Exactly like that.

“You are not lying,” whispers Stiles. His hand is shaking.

“What,” says Derek.

“I don’t need to hear your heart to know that you are not lying. Actually, I didn’t even need to hear what you’d said.”

Derek can’t move, can’t breathe.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen you in the mirror too, Derek. Naked.”


End file.
